Confidence lost, confidence found
by Glossina
Summary: Newkirk's injured hands are causing him to spiral down into self pity and insecurity. Can tough love help him pull out of it?


Newkirk sat out on the bench that sat outside of barracks two. He clumsily pulled a pack of cigarrettes from his jacket pocket and then tried to pull a cigarrette from the pack. His efforts though went unrewarded and he finally threw the pack on the ground in frustration.

Carter came along just then and picked the pack up and pulled one out. "Having a little trouble?" he asked innocently as he lit the cigarrette and handed it to Newkirk.

"Now, 'ow did you guess?" Newkirk sneered sarcastically.

At Carter's wounded look though, he sighed and lowered his gaze. "Sorry, mate", he mumbled contritely. "I'm just feelin a bit peckish lately and I shouldn't 'ave taken it out on you like that".

Carter smiled and plopped down next to Newkirk on the bench. "It's okay, buddy. I know how hard it must be for you with your hands still bothering you. I'm just glad I finally got my cast off last week".

Newkirk nodded distractedly. It was at about that same time that Wilson had declared Newkirk's hands healed. Newkirk should have been thrilled but his hands were still bothering him and he had begun to fear that they would never be healed all the way and he would lose his spot on Hogan's team because he would no longer be able to pick pockets or locks".

He was still depending largely on his friends to do things for him even though Wilson had very pointedly told him that he was healed and could do for himself now. But Newkirk had gone from being the cocky, brash corporal Peter Newkirk, to being a very insecure, unsure young man who was afraid to try anything on his own now.

Lebeau stepped outside just then and motioned to them. "Lunch", he called out with forced cheer. He was worried about Newkirk who seemed to have sunken into a well of insecurity.

Newkirk nodded and rose to his feet, Carter did likewise and both men followed the little chef inside.

Once inside, Newkirk looked at the meal and frowned. Olson had managed to steal a couple of large steaks from Klink's pantry and Lebeau had cooked them up for lunch that afternoon.

Newkirk looked around and then shoved his plate towards Carter. "You mind, mate? I don't think I can cut that up meself".

Carter nodded kindly and quickly cut the meat up for the englishman. "Here you go, buddy", he said when he was finished. Both men missed the frown that Hogan sent them.

After Lunch, Kinch began clearing the dishes from the table. "I thought Newkirk was supposed to be on KP today", Hogan said with displeasure.

"Oh, I don't mind", Kinch said quickly. "I know it's got to be hard on him with his hands like they are".

"His hands are fine", Hogan said tightly. "Wilson said that his hands are completely healed. He needs to start using them again".

Kinch averted his gaze and finished clearing the table, trying to ignore the sharp look that Hogan was shooting his way.

The next day, things didn't go any better. Newkirk began getting dressed but when he got to his boots, he hesitated. Then, he looked over at Lebeau and raised an eyebrow. "Could I 'ave a bit of a 'and, little mate?" he said woefully.

Lebeau glanced over from where he was making breakfast. "What do you need, Pierre?" he asked.

"Could you 'elp me lace up me boots?" Newkirk mumbled sorrowfully.

Lebeau smiled and went to kneel in front of Newkirk. "Of course, mon ami", he murmured gently. "You are my friend. I will do what ever you need".

Hogan came out of his office just then and he strode determindly over to where Newkirk and Lebeau were. "What's going on here?" he asked irritably.

Lebeau tipped his head back to stare up at Hogan. "I, I , I was just helping Pierre to...". His voice trailed off meekly and he scrambled to his feet. "I...".

Hogan's expression softened. He really couldn't blame Lebeau for trying to be kind and helpful but he had made it quite clear over the last few days, that Newkirk needed to start doing for himself. "Go make breakfast", Hogan said firmly but gently. He turned Lebeau around and gave him a light whack on the shoulder. "Go", he ordered.

Lebeau scurried over to the stove and quickly finished preparing the food.

Hogan watched him for a minute and then turned his attention to Newkirk. He sat down next to the englishman. "There is nothing wrong with your hands, you know", Hogan said so softly that only Newkirk could hear.

Newkirk turned a glare on Hogan. "And just 'ow the 'ell would you know that?" he hissed in quiet, angry tones.

"Because Wilson told me that you're healed", Hogan said firmly. "He said that with a little excercise, your hands should heal completely. Hell, they're not even scarred that bad".

"Wilson doesn't know it all", Newkirk bit out sharply. " 'e don't know 'ow me 'ands feel. Only I know that. And I know that me ruddy 'ands aren't working right anymore".

Saying that, Newkirk shoved the laces down inside his boots and got to his feet, intending to go outside.

"Corporal", Hogan barked out sharply. "You aren't going anywhere like that. Sit down and tie the laces on your boots right now or I will consider you out of uniform and you will be punished accordingly".

Lebeau and Olson shot each other an angry look and started forward to help their friend. But Hogan whirled around on them and stopped them with a glare. "Stand down, both of you", he ordered in the same sharp tone. They both stepped back but they watched the situation carefully.

Newkirk frowned. He hadn't meant to get his friends in trouble. He sat back down and fumbled with the laces untill he had them tied. "Better?" he asked Hogan sarcastically.

Hogan looked Newkirk up and down and nodded. "Much better", he smirked.

"You can bloody well go to 'ell", Newkirk muttered under his breath as he stormed from the barracks, slamming the door behind him.

Hogan shook his head wearily. He looked at the other men and then signalled them all over to the table. Once they were there, Hogan sat down and studdied the men carefully. He frowned at Olson and Lebeau. "You two can just wipe those looks off your faces right now", Hogan growled. "I'm not being mean to Newkirk, no matter how it looks to you".

Kinch put a hand on Olson's shoulder and squeezed it gently to keep the younger man from saying anything. "We know you're not being mean, colonel...it's just hard to watch him struggle", Kinch said softly.

Hogan sighed. "I know what the problem is. I over heard him talking to Wilson about it right before Wilson said his hands were healed".

"What is the problem, colonel?" Lebeau asked uncertainly. He still wasn't sure whether or not he should be mad at the american officer.

Hogan sighed. "He's afraid he won't be able to do the things he was doing before", he admitted. "He's afraid that he won't be able to pick locks or pockets anymore or crack safes or forge the papers that we need him to. And, he's afraid that if that happens, he'll lose his spot on this team".

"That would never happen", Lebeau cried passionately. "Will it...?" he added, looking uncertainly at Hogan.

Hogan looked at Lebeau and smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, Louis. He won't be kicked off the team if he can't pick locks or pockets anymore". But then Hogan's expression turned firm again. "He can get better but not if you guys keep doing everthing for him. So, from now on, he does for himself or it just doesn't get done. Is that clear?"

All the men nodded reluctantly. This was deffinately going to be hard.

Newkirk re-entered the barracks a few minutes later and Lebeau began dishing everybody up. Newkirk looked at the meal. Eggs, at least they were easy to handle. He sat down and drew his plate to him and then looked over at Lebeau. "Could I get a bit of coffee, little mate?" he asked sullenly.

Lebeau started to rise but Hogan laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. Lebeau lowered his gaze and nodded silently. Then, he looked over at Newkirk. "It is on the stove, mon ami. You may take what you want".

Newkirk glared at Hogan, knowing full well who was behind this. " Who needs it anyway", he muttered angrily. He finished his breakfast in silence and then went to flop down on Olson's lower bunk. He had been sleeping there since he was injured and Hogan thought it was time to get things back to normal. He looked at Olson and jerked his head in Newkirk's dirrection.

Olson frowned and shook his head slightly. But Hogan wasn't taking no for an answer and he jerked his head towards Newkirk again. Olson sighed and approached the englishman.

"Peter", Olson said softly. "I...I been meaning to talk to you. I, I want my bunk back. You're better now. You should be able to make it up into yours now".

"You want your bunk back?" Newkirk said heatedly. Then he rose to his feet, grabbing the blanket off the bed as he did. "Well then, just take your ruddy bunk", Newkirk snapped as he threw the blanket back on the bed. He stomped across the room and threw himself down at the table, sulking and glaring at everybody in the room.

Things remained touchy for the rest of the day and everybody tried to stay clear of Newkirk. At night, he struggled for a while and then finally managed to climb up into his bed.

Lebeau looked over at Newkirk, from his own top bunk. "Goodnight, Pierre", he said softly.

Newkirk grunted unpleasantly and rolled over to face the wall.

The next day, Newkirk managed to climb from his bed and went to sit at the table.

Hogan came out of his room just then and noticed that Newkirk was still in his nightshirt.

"Planning on getting dressed anytime soon?" Hogan asked dryly.

Newkirk sulked and started getting dressed. "Feel like I brought me mum with me", he mumbled too softly for Hogan to hear.

After he was dressed, Newkirk went and flopped down at the table and waited for Lebeau to finish breakfast. As he watched the little frenchman, Newkirk was also eyeing the coffee pot. He had missed his chance to get coffee yesterday but he wasn't about to today. He got up and picked up a cup and then went and lifted the coffee pot and carefully poured himself some.

Lebeau watched out of the corner of his eye and smiled slightly. But if he was thinking that things were over, he was deffinately wrong.

It was later in the day, shortly after lunch, that things finally came to a head.

Newkirk sat at the table and stared at a deck of cards. He was bored and restless and wanted nothing more than to play a little solitaire or even a hand of poker, that is, if any of his friends would still play with him.

Hogan was watching him and saw where Newkirk's attention was. That's it, Hogan decided. That's how to get through to him He looked over at Kinch and then came up to him and whispered softly in his ear. Kinch listened carefully and then nodded. Then he went around to the rest of the men and discreetly told them to go outside for a while.

Carter, Olson and everybody else went willingly enough but Lebeau shot Newkirk a worried look and shook his head. Kinch frowned and bent down to whisper in Lebeau's ear. Lebeau's eyes widened and he looked up at Kinch and swallowed and shook his head. Kinch smirked and pointed out the door. With one last look up at Kinch, Lebeau turned and scrambled from the room.

Kinch glanced over at Newkirk, who seemed to be unaware of what was going on, so deep into his own thoughts was he and then he turned and followed Lebeau outside.

Hogan waited untill the room was empty of all but he and Newkirk and then he went to sit across the table from him. "Play a hand?" Hogan asked, pointing to the cards.

Newkirk stiffened and looked up. It was then he seemed to realize that he and Hogan were alone in the room. "Sure", he muttered, shoving the deck of cards towards Hogan.

"You deal", Hogan ordered, shoving the deck back across the table.

Newkirk scowled but he picked up the deck of cards and tried to shuffle them. They fell from his hands and onto the table. He scooped them up and tried again. Again he ended up dropping them on the table. Sweat began to build on Newkirk's forehead and his hands began to tremble. He tried a third time and dropped them yet again. Suddenly, to Newkirk's horror, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He threw the cards down and buried his face in his hands as the sobs over took him.

Hogan came around the table and put his arm around Newkirk's shoulders and simply allowed him to cry for a while.

After a few minutes, Newkirk's tears subsided and he drew his sleave across his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he did so. His head was hanging and he looked so miserable that he touched Hogan's heart. "You will get better", Hogan said softly. "You just need to start working on it. You can't let yourself wallow in self pitty like this. Take it from me", he laughed wryly. "You keep it up and you'll find yourself on the recieving end of the small but mighty force of hurricane Louis and he'll give you a piece of his mind for sure".

Newkirk choked on a combination laugh and sob and looked up at where Hogan stood next to him. It was then that he realized that Hogan had his arm around him and he pulled away slightly, embarrassed. That sort of thing was fine for Lebeau or Carter and maybe even Olson, but not for Peter Newkirk.

"I, I'm sorry I been such a pain", Newkirk choked out suddenly. "I...I...", he broke off then, not wanting to admit what was really wrong.

"You WILL get better", Hogan said determindly. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now and I know that's scary...".

"Scares the 'ell out of me, guv", Newkirk admitted truthfully. "What 'appens if I can't get back to where I was before? Am I just off the team? I...", Newkirk hesitated. He wanted to tell Hogan the whole truth but he had never been very good at being so open with his emotions.

"What?" Hogan said softly. "You can tell me anything and it won't go any farther than the two of us, I promise", he added gently.

"Back 'ome", Newkirk started, his head hanging in shame. "Nobody really thought much of me. They wouldn't 'ave nothin to do with me cause I was a thief and a cheat and a liar. I spent a lot of time on me own, untill I met you lot. And you wanted me", he added in wonder. "You wanted me for the very things that made everybody else shun me. I'm afraid that if I lose that ability, I'll be right back where I started. All alone with nobody that gives a care about me one way or another".

"I'm really hurt by that", Hogan said in an injured tone.

At Newkirk's questioning look, Hogan continued. "Do you honestly think that that's the only reason we keep you around? Well, it's not. We keep you around because you're our friend. We keep you around because we care about you, not just because you can pick a few pockets".

Newkirk looked down, suddenly very embarrassed and even a little shy. Hogan frowned. This wouldn't do at all. He reached down and lifted Newkirk's chin. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Newkirk looked incredibly vulnerable right then and Hogan knew he would have to tread very lightly.

"Peter", Hogan said softly. "When I chose you for my team, I did pick you for your talents. But I kept you on the team because of you. I kept you on the team because you're a good match with the rest of us and because...". Here, Hogan hesitated and looked away slightly.

"Because why?" Newkirk asked.

"Because you've become a part of my family", Hogan said as he turned back around and stared dirrectly into the corporal's green eyes. "You've become a brother to the rest of us and that will never change. Like it or not", Hogan added with a shaky laugh. "You're stuck with us".

"Wouldn't 'ave it any other way, guv", Newkirk smirked. Once again, the cocky, young, smart aleck from the east end. "Wouldn't 'ave it any other way".

Hogan smiled and sat back down across from Newkirk and began going over some strengthening exercises for his hands that Wilson had told him about.

When the other men finally came back in an hour later, they found the colonel and the corporal sitting together at the table, laughing and talking and making plans to heal.


End file.
